


indisputably human

by d_e_marcus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Castiel (Supernatural) Learns to be Human, Castiel (Supernatural) is Bad at Feelings, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Dean Winchester Teaches Castiel to be Human, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Falling In Love, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), References to Depression, Sad Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 14:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_e_marcus/pseuds/d_e_marcus
Summary: When Castiel’s grace was stripped away, leaving him shockingly, indisputably human, the overwhelming number of sensations that flooded his body brought him to his knees.Or, the one where Castiel loses his grace, becomes human and is Bad at Feelings.™





	indisputably human

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning for anxiety, depression and dark (non-suicidal) thoughts. 
> 
> Thank you to @PuckGoodFellow and @rebowyer2000 for your expertise.

****When Castiel’s grace was stripped away, leaving him shockingly, indisputably human, the overwhelming number of sensations that flooded his body brought him to his knees.

They all came zinging in at once, bowling him over like an invisible force. Everything snapped into existence and he wasn’t ready for it.

He wasn’t ready.

Simple things. Breathing, digesting, blinking, all the natural happenings he never allowed himself to feel when Jimmy’s body was just a vessel. Never had to.

Painful things. The dirt, cold and grainy, that seeped through his pants where he fell; the scrapes on the palm of his hands that burned where the skin had been stripped raw; the sweat that beaded up on his forehead, a physical response to the aches and pains of the vessel.

No, not vessel...the body.

 _His_ body.

Emotions.

He could feel those better now, too.

Anger and sadness he easily understood, the rest he couldn’t name.

When he heard Dean screaming for him, that knot of _something_ in Castiel’s chest tightened even further. A red-hot coil waiting to spring loose and break him.

That feeling magnified when Dean’s terrified expression came into view, only to blur again just before the world went black.

 

════════════════════

 

The Winchester brothers had taken him back to the bunker, patched him up and gave him a room.

Told him to stay as long as he wanted, it’s his home now.

But it doesn’t feel like it. Not yet, at least.

Maybe it never will.

He figured out the basics of being human pretty quickly — hunger, sleep, _elimination_ — those wait for no man.

And he had to because Dean wouldn’t leave him alone for more than five minutes that first week.

He still hasn’t gotten used to it, being human.

Maybe he never will.

He reads in the library, does quite a bit of thinking in the War Room. Stands in the kitchen staring at the appliances he’s too tired to learn how to use.

 _Too tired_. Tired is a new concept to him. He stays in bed for hours at a time, until Dean’s concerned knocking forces him to move around the bunker.

He wanders from room to room like he’s lost.

Without a purpose, because he doesn’t have one anymore.

Maybe he never will.

 

════════════════════

 

When Charlie showed up at the bunker, Castiel wasn’t sure what to make of her at first.

Sure, he’d heard plenty about the vivacious red-head whom the Winchester brothers had somehow adopted as one of their own, but meeting her was something else entirely.

Her smile, her jokes, her willful optimism despite the darkness that polluted the bunker — it was easy to see why they wanted her there, why they called her to begin with. Sam was excited, ‘like an overgrown puppy’ Dean had said, and even the eldest Winchester seemed lighter somehow.

Maybe they needed something to balance out the negative energy that Castiel brought with him.

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

════════════════════

 

It’s been two weeks since Charlie arrived at the bunker, five since he became human. 

Things are easier now.

Not easy, but easier.

The darkness isn’t permanent, it’s a _feeling_. He knows because sometimes, when Sam picks up burgers from the diner or when Dean smiles at him until the little crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes, the darkness isn’t so dark. 

And he knows feelings can change, though he doesn’t know how to make it happen.

It’s not permanent.

So he waits. 

He’s learned other things about being human, too. Like how Dean always lets Charlie pick the movie, how the brothers never expect her to cook, how she’s offered the good blanket because she’s a _guest_. Guests leave, so they get the best attention while they’re around. It’s a human custom. An unspoken rule. 

Castiel wonders if he was supposed to be a guest, too. Expected to leave. Not overstay his welcome.

He doesn’t bother to ask.

 

════════════════════

 

Charlie, for all of her energy and spirit, doesn’t push like Dean does. She doesn’t ask too much of Castiel and isn’t disappointed when he doesn’t do whatever is expected of him. 

They all play games, watch movies, study lore. Slowly, he starts participating more, and the smile Dean gives him is enough for him to do it again. 

And again. 

Charlie’s like something warm, thawing him out bit by bit, so slowly he didn’t realize until it was already happening. Dean is fire, white hot and burning in Castiel’s veins. Sometimes he’s afraid to stand too close. 

But Dean doesn’t give up, and Charlie doesn’t either.

She’s starting to grow on him. As much as she possibly can in his current state, he supposes.

She tells him that they are ‘B-F-F’ now, whatever that means. He just nods because it’s easier that way.

 

════════════════════

 

Charlie leaves quietly one night with a promise to return and a hug that surprises Castiel in its strength.

He wishes there were more of those. From Charlie. From Sam. From Dean.

 

Especially Dean.

 

Castiel is slowly picking up the pieces. The pieces that make him ‘Castiel’ and not just a former Angel of the Lord, and new pieces, the human pieces.

He learns how to do laundry.

He spends more time with Dean.

He learns how to change Baby’s oil.

He starts to notice things.

Like the way Dean watches him when he thinks Castiel isn’t looking.

The way his heavy footsteps pause in front of Castiel’s bedroom door.

 

For every nuance of human nature that he finally understands, there are five more in its place bewildering him.

But he’s trying.

The darkness fades from pitch black to a dark grey, like the sky before a snowstorm.

Tornado.

When Sam mentions it one night while the two of them catalog books in the library, Castiel tries to explain it, but he can’t find the right words.

Sam understands anyway.

He says it’s called depression.

 

════════════════════

 

Sam isn’t afraid to talk about it — not with him, not with the doctor who gives them the tiny white pills, and certainly not with Dean, judging by the hushed conversations Castiel passes.

Dean is clearly ignoring whatever advice Sam gives him if the ‘bitch faces’ are any indication.

So it goes.

 

The darkness isn’t permanent.

Things are easier now.

Not easy, but easier.

 

But, weeks later, when Dean and Sam tell him that they’re going back to Wyoming, back to the Devil’s Gate to finish the job and that Castiel is too vulnerable to go with them...he’s hurt.

They tell him that Charlie’s going to stay at the bunker with him.

She’s the sitter for the baby in a trench coat.

Of course, Dean didn’t say those exact words, but Castiel is getting a lot better at reading between the lines — especially wide gaping ones.

 

When they leave, the darkness comes back.

 

════════════════════

 

He avoids Charlie for the first two days.

He should have known better.

When she plopped down on the couch with two mugs of hot cocoa and a gentle smile, he really should have known.

She talks, asks questions. Easy ones at first, then probing.

Somehow, the dam breaks.

 

Castiel tells her about the night he lost his grace, the darkness that followed, the times when he’s felt like dead weight to the Winchester brothers who have no use for him anymore, how he’s a terrible human and sometimes he fears he won’t be anything but. He hates that feeling, whatever it is.

She calls it “helpless.”

It’s fitting.

 

════════════════════

 

He smiled today.

 

He’d agreed to help Charlie start an online catalog of sorts for the bunker’s treasures.

He still hadn’t mastered the computer, so he sat across from Charlie and her laptop, tagging each item before handing it to her. 

His cellphone rang, a loud rock-and-roll song startling them both before he answered with his usual greeting, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s rumbling voice had filtered through the phone with an easy “Heya, Cas.”

They talked for a few minutes, Dean catching him up on their progress, and when Castiel looked up, he was startled again by Charlie’s wide-eyed, open-mouthed stare.

He realized that one corner of his mouth had turned up, a direction it hadn’t seen in quite some time.

Charlie asked about it, of course. He’d gotten much more comfortable talking to her about his feelings, so he told her everything. How he misses Dean when he’s gone, how he wonders what Dean is doing at _this very moment_ practically every moment of the day, if he’s safe, if he’s happy, when he’s coming back.

Castiel didn’t even know those things until he’d voiced them, but it’s true nonetheless.

When he stopped to take a breath, the room was too quiet.

He’d actually stunned _Charlie_ into silence and, for a moment, worried that his behavior wasn’t normal.

“I — is that — do other humans do that?”

His shoulders sagged in relief when she’d beamed and said, “Yeah! It’s called ‘pining.’”

 

════════════════════

 

Waiting.

Dean and Sam call to check in, but he doesn’t hear from them as often as he’d like.

More waiting.

Time is valuable when you’re trying to prevent an apocalypse. He spends his with a red-headed marvel, thinking about a green-eyed one.

More waiting.

Eventually, waiting turns into pacing, which turns into nightmares. 

Charlie takes him back to the doctor, holds his hand when he can’t find the right words. Now there are little blue pills to go with the white ones. 

More waiting. 

He’s sick of it.

 

════════════════════

 

Dean and Sam redoubled their efforts, called in a few favors from the hunting network and then they didn’t need to stay much longer at Devil’s Gate.

They called Cas for his input and hashed out a plan. It was fool proof, and it was going down at midnight.

The only thing Castiel could do was wait. Again.

And he hated it.

He paces in the War Room, clenching and unclenching his fists, pointedly ignoring the concerned looks from Charlie.

She finally breaks him a little after 10.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks again, reclining back in her seat and eyeing him with an inscrutable look. “You’re looking a bit pale.”

“I — I’m fine.”

Castiel knows she doesn’t believe him. “I’m fine” is one of the most used lies in the English language, he learned it from Dean after all, but he clearly needs work on the execution.

“I hate waiting to hear from them,” he finally replied. “And I’m not feeling well, but I’m not sure why.”

Charlie perks up at that. “What do you mean?”

He frowns, trying to describe the way his arms ache, his fingers tingle and his stomach rolls.

“Oh,” she responds simply. “That’s the anxiety. You’re worried.”

 _Worried,_ he frowns at that. That doesn’t sound right. He’s been worried before, as an angel, and it didn’t feel like this. Like he’s on the verge of passing out or hanging his head over a toilet. Like he needs to shake his hands out every thirty seconds.

But, as it turns out, there are a myriad of physical symptoms that accompany anxiety. The human body is a complex and confusing thing and, as Charlie points out, everyone’s different.

He’s somewhat surprised he hadn’t experienced that sooner.

Still, in this case, it’s irrational.

He knows the Winchester brothers have a solid plan and they’ll both be fine.

So why is he worrying enough to make himself sick?

“That’s what happens when you care about someone,” Charlie smiles sadly.

 

════════════════════

 

Much to Castiel’s relief, the Winchester brothers returned to the bunker the next evening, Chinese food in tow.

Much to his dismay, Charlie left a day later.

She left him, not knowing she’d sewn herself a pocket deep in Castiel’s chest.

An empty pocket now, but somehow still comforting, knowing she’ll always be there to fill it.

A space carved for his closest friend.

 

Sam has a space, too.

If Castiel pictured it, Sam’s space would be filled with books and knowledge, bravery and honor. Plaid.

And salad.

The thought makes him smile.

 

Dean has — Dean has something else.

Brotherly love, like Sam. Friendship, like Charlie.

And something _more_ he can’t name.

A profound bond.

Castiel leaves it at that in his mind, in the space in his chest where Dean lives.

For now.

 

It’s hard with Charlie gone. He can’t talk about these jumbled feelings with the Winchester brothers like he could with her.

But Dean knows.

He always knows.

One night in the library, Dean wordlessly hands him a mug of coffee and his cellphone before turning on his heel.

The line is still connected.

_7 minutes, 33 seconds._

His eyes blur with unshed tears, a small smile tugging at his lips as he brings the phone to his ear to whisper, “Hello, Charlie.”

They talk for an hour before Charlie asks how he’s doing.

How he’s _really_ doing.

When he tells her that she left without knowing she’s important to him, it’s hard when she’s gone, he needs her….he doesn’t know how to say it.

Her smile is evident, even through the phone.

“I miss you too, Cas,” she says, and the pocket is full again.

 

════════════════════

 

Things are easier now, it’s not as dark.

Light grey like Sam’s jacket. Like that spaceship in the TV show he watches with Dean. The little pieces in the game that makes Sam laugh when Dean angrily throws paper money in his face.

It’s better.

Team Free Will is back on track.

Sam scours the internet and hunting networks for cases; Dean trains Castiel in the art of being a _human_ warrior.

Nevermind the countless battles he’d survived in Chuck knows how many eons, but Dean won’t hear of him coming on the road until Dean himself is satisfied with Castiel’s fighting skills.

Sans grace.

Castiel doesn’t mind, he spends more time with Dean. Watches his practiced hands reload a .45 and empty it with equal precision.

Watches the rivulets of sweat drip from his face to pool in his collarbones when they spar. Hands him a bottle of water and watches him drink.

Ignores the heat stirring in his veins every time they touch.

That’s one human thing he’s not ready to conquer yet.

 

They train.

They study.

They wait.

It feels good, to have a purpose. He thought he’d never have that again.

The Winchesters can use him, he’s not dead weight taking up space in the bunker.

He shuffles into the kitchen one night asking Dean to teach him to make pie, tries not to look at his lips when they part in surprise.

That part is getting harder.

 

When Sam finally starts tracking a few cases, Castiel trains with determination.

He runs with Sam, works out in the weight room, feels his human muscles strain and grow with every repetition.

Tries not to combust when Dean’s eyes trail down the length of his toned body.

In the end, Castiel is the one to take down the wendigo on their first case. It’s an easy one, but Sam claps him on the back anyway.

Dean smiles and puts an arm around his shoulders and tells him he should be _proud._

That’s a new one.

 

════════════════════

 

Eileen called and Sam became an 'overgrown puppy' again when she agreed to visit.

She pops in on a Friday night, just long enough to drop her bag in a room and bully them into dinner and a night on the town.

Castiel knows now that dinner is almost always followed by drinks of the alcoholic sort.

 

He wears the jeans and button-down Dean bought him last month, runs a hand through his messy hair, wears boots instead of loafers, and pretends not to hear the soft ‘ _sonovabitch_ ’ that falls from Dean’s lips when he joins them in the kitchen.

Tries not to ache when Dean is unusually quiet for the drive and then flits off to the bar the moment they walk in.

 

Sam and Eileen pick up right where they left off and talk like old friends. Castiel joins in when he can, but mostly he just watches. He keeps one eye on Dean and scans the bar, observing the patrons, the waitstaff, the group of college students. He watches the couple making out in the corner booth whose hands never seem to come out from under the table.

 

He watches Sam and the way he looks at Eileen with life dancing in his eyes. And for once, Castiel knows what it means.

 

The bittersweet smile he wears is quickly replaced when a woman leans against the bar, touches Dean’s arm and smiles, flirts and laughs shamelessly. Castiel bristles when Dean smiles back, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s seen this before, witnessed Dean ‘work his magic’ in countless bars when Castiel was still an angel. It feels different now.

 

Eileen’s hand is warm on his arm, pulling him out of whatever version of hell he fell into.

“Cas?”

Sam’s voice cuts in through the fray and Castiel finally regains focus, only to find two inquisitive stares. They’re concerned, and he knows he should say something but he can’t. How can he possibly explain something that even he doesn’t understand?

He vibrates with an energy that calls for chaos and destruction, just barely contained beneath a cracking facade. Wants to claw it away in a rage of primal anger intended for a blonde thirty feet away and not his own skin.

Sam’s calculating eyes follow his line of sight and he only looks mildly surprised when Eileen asks candidly, “Castiel, are you jealous?”

 

════════════════════

  
_Jealous_.

That’s definitely a new one.

Eileen doesn’t bring it up again, but she doesn’t have to. The word swirls around in his brain, teasing his thoughts like wine on a sensitive palate.

This thing with Dean has taken on a life of its own, but Castiel still won’t give it a name. Can’t.

He doesn’t know how it started or when, though he suspects the moment he gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition.

It built slowly at first.

So slowly, he didn’t know it was happening until one day in a bar, someone asked him if he was jealous and he knew, deep down, that the answer could be nothing other than ‘yes.’

He looks at Dean differently, thinks about him differently, misses him differently, _wants_ him differently. It’s wrong, he knows it is, but now he feels as helpless as he did when he first became human.

He can’t stop himself from thinking in circles and it festers like a wound he didn’t know he had. And —

The dreams.

He sleeps now, there’s no way around them...that he knows of at least.

On more than one occasion he woke up hard and aching, rutting into the mattress with a whispered name on his lips. When he finds release picturing green eyes and freckles, he feels ashamed.

But Dean knows.

Dean always knows.

Castiel hears his hushed whispers in the kitchen one morning, and can’t help but listen when he catches his name.

He knows that’s wrong, too.

“— then tell me. You and Cas — weird since that night in — just spit it out.”

“Dean, you know exactly — ”

“— not playing dumb, Sammy. This isn’t —”

“— and talk to him, Dean! It’s not that hard!”

Castiel's mind supplies an image of the two of them, Sam with his hands out pleading for Dean to be reasonable about... _something_...and Dean exasperated and running a hand through his hair with the other on his hip.

It strikes Castiel how well he knows them, to picture them like this.

“And say what, Sam?! Cas doesn’t — going to risk —”

“You don’t know that, De —”

“— feel the same way — I deserve better — give him — and then leave.”

He can only make out bits and pieces, but it’s enough. Enough to wish that he still had his grace for the sole purpose of flying away faster than he can run.

 

════════════════════

 

He does leave, just like Dean said.

It only takes thirty minutes before his phone starts vibrating. Thirty minutes for them to notice he’s missing.

Thirty minutes of pain.

It rings again. One call right after another.

He shuts it off and keeps walking.

Time passes.

Somehow Castiel ends up at a bar with a plate of food and a beer in front of him, both untouched, with no idea how to pay for it.

He’s only slightly surprised when Dean storms in, looking furious and frightened.

“Where the hell have you been, Cas? We’ve been looking all over for you, calling your phone and you —”

“I left Dean, isn’t it obvious?”

Judging by the look on Dean’s face, it is not.

He’ll just have to make it so. He can't help the bitterness and hurt tainting his voice.

“You’re right you know, you do deserve better.”

“Cas what — ” Dean cuts off like he’s scared to ask. “What are you saying?”

“Please leave me alone, Dean,” he whispers, his heart aching in his chest when Dean turns around and walks out, looking as hurt as Castiel feels.

The food is cold now.

The beer is warm.

He still hurts.

This morning he was planning to ask Dean to go to the Farmer’s Market to buy more local honey and now….now he doesn’t even know where he plans to sleep. To live.

He can’t go back.

He can’t.

But _Dean_ comes back, albeit moving slowly this time. Just close enough to lay two credit cards on the bar next to Castiel’s hand.

Castiel looks, he knows he shouldn’t, but he looks anyway, and it hurts.

He never wanted to see Dean like this. With red-rimmed eyes. Blotchy cheeks.

He turns away, unable to look at Dean’s face for whatever comes next.

He doesn’t want to hear it either, not when Dean finally speaks with a hoarseness akin to forty years in Hell.

“If you — if you really want to leave, Cas, I’m not going to stop you. But I really — ” Dean cuts off, squaring his shoulders in resolution. “Whatever it is, we can work it out. Please, just...”

But they can’t work it out, can they? Dean doesn’t want an ex-angel with no discernible skills and an abrasive personality. He said it himself, Dean deserves better. More.

More than a baby in a trenchcoat.

“The bunker will always be your home, Cas,” Dean sighs. “The door is open if you — when you want to come back.”

Time passes.

Castiel isn’t sure how long, but the next time he looks up Dean is gone.

And he was wrong, it wasn’t two credit cards Dean left on the bar. It was a credit card and a motel room key. He’s not sure what to make of that.

The Buckshot Inn is exactly what he expected, minus the empty room. Some tiny sliver of him had hoped that Dean would be waiting. But the only thing in the room is a musty double bed and misery.

His heart hurts again; he wants to double over and vomit this time. He wants to cry and scream and press the palm of his hand to his chest to stop the pain.

Anything to stop the pain.

 

_Oh._

 

The darkness is back.

He slumps down to the floor, one hand pressed to his chest, the other cradling his head as he lets the tears fall.

So that’s why they call it heartbreak.

 

════════════════════

 

By the time Castiel fell into a fitful sleep, he’d half-decided to steal a car the next morning and take off for one of the coasts.

He doesn’t make it very far - just to the door of his motel room.

Dean is asleep against the wall outside. His long legs stretch out in front of him, arms wrapped around his torso with his head at an awkward angle and his face pressed into his worn leather jacket.

Castiel barely has time to contemplate any of it before Dean wakes.

He groans, blinks a few times and looks around, snapping to attention when he sees Castiel standing in the doorway. He jumps to his feet, moving faster than expected for a 30-year-old who spent the night on the ground.

“Cas, please listen to me,” Dean starts, holding out his hands in a half-hearted attempt to stop Castiel from leaving the motel room. “I don’t know what you think you heard yesterday, but I can promise you it isn’t that. Please just come back to the bunker with me so we can talk.”

Castiel doesn't really know what to say to that. His heart still hurts, but things always look a little less dark in the morning, don’t they?

“If you still want to go after we talk, I’ll drive you anywhere, but please let me — ”

He stares unblinkingly at Dean until the man swallows hard and starts to look worried. He speaks again.

“We’ll figure it out, we always do,” he pleads, eyes filled with sorrow. “Cas, buddy, I need you.”

“Dean…”

So many feelings can fit into a name, into four letters. The one taking flight right now is also four letters.

It’s unexpected.

But welcome.

“Let me bottom-line it for you,” Dean says, his voice thick. “I’m not leaving here without you. Understand?”

Castiel thinks he should be mad about that. It’s aggressive. Controlling. Demanding. Entitled.

But Dean doesn’t look any of those things.

He looks terrified.

The man has slayed monsters and demons and lived through every version of Hell, but Castiel has never seen him look so scared.

That’s all it takes for him to nod once and close the door.

 

════════════════════

 

They’ll figure it out. They always do.

After everything they’ve been through, Castiel can’t possibly give up on that so easily.

But it’s hard to remain optimistic when Dean is sitting on his bed with his head hanging between his hands, not saying a word.

He didn’t say a word in the car, when they got back to the bunker, when he led Castiel to his room, when he closed the door. And he’s not saying any now.

Castiel doesn’t know what to do.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Things can’t go back to the way they were. Living in willful denial is one thing, but knowing that Dean doesn’t want Castiel in the same way, that he knows he deserves better...it’s too much.

Castiel can’t live like that. Can he?

And make no mistake about it, Castiel _wants_ Dean. In every way possible. He may not have understood the longing glances and yearnings and dreams at first, but it only took his heart shattering into a million pieces to figure it out.

But he’ll never have him.

Castiel spent the entire car ride debating whether or not it was enough to have Dean as a friend, trapped in a state of perpetual longing, than nothing at all. It hurts and he still doesn’t _know_.

“Cas….”

When did Dean start crying?

Castiel’s feet are ahead of his brain and it catches up when he’s halfway to the bed. He sits down anyway.

“Please don’t leave,” Dean whispers. He turns to Castiel, eyes bloodshot and watery, vibrant in a way that’s equally beautiful and heartbreaking.

“I need you, Cas.”

“I know, Dean, but —”

 _But I love you. But I want more that what you’re willing to give. But it’s not enough. But_ —

“No, Cas, you don’t understand,” Dean says, more earnestly this time. “I _need_ you.”

His eyes flick back and forth between Castiel’s, pleading with him to understand.

If this is all he’ll ever have, is it enough? Is it enough to know that Dean needs him, but doesn’t love him and want him the same way? Can he live with that?

“I — I need some time, Dean.”

Castiel didn’t think it possible, but Dean looks even more wretched than before.

 

════════════════════

 

Dean doesn’t leave his room and Castiel doesn’t leave his either.

It hurts too much.

The wound isn’t a small festering thing like before, it’s a wide gaping hole at his core.

Gods, does it hurt.

“Dean?”

Sam’s voice echoes in the hallway, his knuckles rapping softly on the door just a few steps down from his own. It opens slowly, shuts quietly, and two pairs of feet take off in the other direction.

He should have taken one of the little blue pills hours ago, but he doesn’t have any. The prescription ran out and he never went back for more. Didn’t need to.

Things were better, until…

Is it enough?

He keeps asking himself, but he’s no closer to an answer than he was this morning.

Indecision is new to him. His usual, rational thought process is useless here.

Like he currently feels.

Castiel thinks this might be one of those experiences humans love to talk about, write about, but never want to experience themselves.

_Heartbreak._

He can’t say he blames them.

It still hurts.

And that will never go away, will it? Things can’t go back to the way they were now that Castiel knows, not really.

The future is dark no matter which path he chooses. The idea of never having Dean as a partner, as a lover and a friend — knowing that Dean wants something else, something other than Cas, that Dean knows he _deserves_ it — it hurts.

It cuts him deeper than an angel blade ever could have.

But the other alternative? Leaving? Not seeing Dean every day. Never seeing him smile again. That...that hurts worse.

He knows now that he could never walk away from this gorgeous green-eyed man who has simultaneously become his damnation and salvation.

Castiel’s not sure how long he lies there staring at the ceiling. Long enough to know that he should have eaten something or at least left his room.

But he can’t.

It still hurts.

Eventually, he hears Dean’s boots stomping down the hallway, slowing as they approach the door to Castiel’s room, like they usually do but —

This time, they stop.

 

════════════════════

 

Dean doesn’t knock.

The door creaks open seemingly of its own volition while Dean stares at the floor in front of him. Castiel’s heart hammers in his chest, his hands suddenly clammy and eyes glued to the figure in the doorway.

Dean takes one purposeful step inside and shuts the door behind him with a decisive click.

Castiel can’t look away.

Dean looks distraught. Heartbroken. Hopeful. Scared. _Determined._

It occurs to Castiel then that he’s gotten a lot better at this human emotion thing.

Perhaps it’s too little, too late.

When Dean finally looks up, surprise is added to the swirl of other emotions lining his beautiful face. Like he wasn’t expecting Castiel to actually be sitting there, almost like —

“I thought — I thought you would have been packing a bag,” he stutters helplessly, so unlike himself.

Castiel deflates. There’s no other word for it. The fight leaves his body and it takes a considerable amount of energy for him to draw in a breath and tell Dean —

“Cas,” Dean whispers, voice choked up in a way Castiel has never heard before and never wants to hear again. “I meant what I said. If you — if you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you.”

He takes a tentative step forward into Castiel’s personal space, close enough to touch.

Yet so far.

“But I can’t let you walk out of here without telling you —”

Dean takes a deep breath as Castiel holds his.

“I love you, Cas — and I want you to stay. Here. With me.”

He almost can’t believe it. To have been in such pain earlier and now —

When his eyes finally refocus, Dean’s are cast downward as a frown tugs at his lips. Two seconds away from the heartbreak Castiel had experienced not two hours before.

Dean turns to leave and only then does Castiel realize he’s been silent too long and Dean — beautiful, uncertain Dean — thinks he’s been given an answer to a question that was never asked.

He reaches out, clasping Dean’s forearm before he can turn for the door and the man freezes under his hand.

“Dean.”

Castiel’s hand lingers there, long past the point of what he knows is acceptable. But he’s not letting go.

He’s never letting go, not unless Dean tells him to. He'd follow him to Hell again if that's what it takes.

Dean doesn’t move.

“Please don’t go,” Castiel whispers, urging Dean to turn so he can run his other hand up Dean’s bicep to rest upon the mark he made so long ago.

 _Profound bond._  

The words ring in his head with an entirely new meaning.

“I love you, Dean.”

 

════════════════════

 

When Dean had finally wrapped him up in strong arms and kissed him senseless, the overwhelming number of sensations that flooded Castiel’s body brought him to his knees.

They all came zinging in at once, bowling him over like an invisible force. Everything snapped into existence and he wasn’t ready for it.

He wasn’t ready.

When Dean locked them into his bedroom for the rest of the week, worshiping Castiel’s body, nipping and licking and kissing and — well, he wasn’t ready for that either.

One big misunderstanding, some pride and a little bit of fear caused them both entirely too much pain, but Castiel supposes that’s par for the course. Part of being human.

He’s still not gotten used to it, being human.

Maybe he never will.

But it’s easier now. And he’ll have Dean.

He’ll always have Dean.

 

Just like this.

With Dean’s head on his chest, Castiel can admire him in peace. His plump lips, softly parted as tiny puffs of air escape; a strong, slightly crooked nose; long eyelashes that fan across his cheeks, highlighting his freckles.

A work of art. 

The sudden fluttering in his chest takes him by surprise, but he smiles. He knows this feeling and he’ll know it for the rest of his human life: 

It’s love.

**Author's Note:**

> The full conversation between Sam and Dean that Castiel overheard: 
> 
> "Alright, what's going on?"  
> "What are you talking about?"  
> "If you've got something to say then tell me. You and Cas have been acting weird since that night in the bar, so just spit it out."  
> "Dean, you know exactly what the problem is and you refuse to do anything about it. He loves you, Dean. And you love him. But you're going to lose him if you keep playing dumb like this."  
> "I'm not playing dumb, Sammy. This isn't some rom-com fairy tale ending, life doesn't work like that."  
> "It could if you'd just man up and talk to him, Dean! It's not that hard!"  
> "And say what, Sam?! Cas doesn't want me the way I want him. Plain and simple. I'm not going to risk losing him."  
> "You don't know that, Dean. He was jealous of her, not the other way around. I know you can see the way he looks at you, the way he acts differently with you than everybody else. You have to tell him."  
> "Yeah, and what if I tell him and he doesn't feel the same way, Sam? Or worse, what if he does? We'll have the apple pie life for two seconds before it all goes to hell. One day he'll wake up and say 'I deserve better' and it will kill me. I can't give him what he needs, I can't be what he wants. It'll just end in disappointment, he'll get his heart broken and then leave."


End file.
